With Fire and Sword
by mantaray752
Summary: Ever since I was a kid, I was told that the world is cruel, and only behind our borders lay peace and prosperity. "The Empire protects all," they said. "The Emperor is divine, as are his lands." We all grew up like this. To the south, the raging, scorched wastes of the Illyah and its savage tribes; while to the north lay the Archipelago... and the island of Berk.
1. Ch 1: New Horizon

**So, in this AU, south of the Archipelago lies several continents, and the biggest of them houses the Imperium. A stray expedition to the north ends up in Berk, an uncharted territory to the Imperials, led by Captain Vulus.** **This idea came to me when I was wondering how an 18th century dragoon and a Viking might fight and who would win.** **Disclaimer: I do not own HTTYD, and any easter eggs or nods to any fictional or unfictional person, literary work, movie, game is just due to my tired and idiotic mind.** **Probably K/T, some parts may be M.** **Warning: following chapters may contain heavy language.**

{_}

The storm went away, leaving the island and its inhabitants wet, muddy and grumpy. The village was already back to work, some people sweeping and carrying away the chunks of ice. Her gaze swept across the Plaza, noting the buildings with holes on them, scribbling down some runes on her report. She did not lift her eyes from the paper, not even when a towering man appeared up next to her.

"Astrid, report."

She almost dropped the paper, quickly straightening herself and snapping a salute before she started her annual report.

"Chief, two storehouses' roof has several holes, as well does three homes and the forge, although the last one seems to have been repaired since my last observation." she said, retaining a calm and confident voice.

"Good." Stoick said, taking the paper from the woman's hands. "Take a look at the forge, see what help Gobber needs. After that, report to the Council."

As Stoick turned back and left for the Great Hall, Astrid grabbed her axe and started walking towards the familliar building with an enormous chimney spitting clouds of smoke like a vicious dragon. Berk still had a few days until the next estimated raid, although nobody knew for sure those mindless beasts decided to return this day or later. As one of the best warriors of the tribe, she has killed more than she could count, and it seemed to earn her fame, respect, power - but no marriage proposals. She had to admit that the island was not full of young warriors, and the narrow selection either already chosen someone or was not interested in her. It did not upset her nor made her jealous of the other women, as she made peace with this to be the Shield Maiden of Berk.

She saw the big line of Vikings waiting to get to the hatch, impatiently hurling curses and other words at the young man who took the weapons and piled them near the anvil, where Gobber was mending them. Astrid went to the back and entered the forge, the immense heat hitting her as she took a look at the walls. A few burnt marks and several cracks were scattered around the wooden structure, accompanied by hurriedly fixed holes on the roof and upper walls. She crouched down and inspected one of the cracks, wondering how much stress the wood might take after the disastrous raid of last night. Her gaze swept along the wooden walls and rested on the form of the young man, now next to the anvil, hammering a bent sword.

"Gobber!" she yelled, trying to get the attention of the one-legged blacksmith through the chaos of the hatch.

"Astrid? What do ye wan', lass?" Gobber asked, walking to the back of the forge, past the sweating apprentice. "Did Stoick send ya?"

"Yes, Gobber, the Chief sent me. He told me to lend you a hand in the repairs." Astrid said, eyeing the roof and the walls. "I see you handled it pretty well."

"Aye, the young lad got it done as soon as yer fire brigade put the ice away." Gobber told her, scratching his chin with his hook. "Thor went wild tonight, didn' he?"

"Yes, several houses got damaged by the ice, and we lost some cattle here and there…"

"Lass, could ye keep an eye on the shop while I get on me business up in the Hall?" Gobber asked, raising his hook and pointing at the young form near the bellows. "Jus' make sure the lad isn' beaten up like yak dung, will ya?"

Astrid looked at the stiff man pulling the softened weapons out, checking if they are ready to mend. His eyes were focused on the red blades and axe heads, turning and inspecting them with concentration.

"Hiccup!" Gobber yelled, throwing a metal tool towards him. "Ye'll need this for the shields!"

It took her unprepared as the apprentice caught it with one hand, not even looking up from the anvil. She was shocked at the precise reflex and ease, not expecting the village runt to handle such situation well. She stepped forward, leaning a bit to the right and got a glimpse of the pile of weapons, now a small bunch compared to the one she saw earlier.

"Keep yer eye on him and let him do the work, lass." Gobber said, stepping out of the forge. Astrid sat down on a stool and watched Hiccup work tirelessly, fixing swords, axes, hammers, knives, daggers, maces, shields and bolas. His hands had small cuts and patches of blood, the skin hardened by the hammer and anvil during years of smithing. His forehead was glittering with sweat, as well as his cheeks and arms. Her eyes turned to her weapons, battered and dusty, earning an internal sigh for herself. Despite her efforts, she could not spare enough to repair her weapons or replace the axe head, which clearly was a few raids away from finally giving in to the vicious usage. Even Stoick, her unofficial mentor would not spare her a head - not that she would accept it. The only real weapon she had was this, and it was even given to her by an unknown man five years ago, on the eve of her thirteenth birthday. She could still remember the sight - a nicely wrapped leather package lying in front of their door, with a scribbled note on top, wishing her the best and fortunate years to come. Nobody in the village knew who placed the package down on that night - except for Snotlout, who clearly was just trying to get Astrid as his girlfriend.

She was shaken up from her silent thinking by a hand reaching for the axe resting on her knees. She grabbed the wrist and pulled out a dagger, only to face Hiccup's scared and helpless expression. She let his arm go and he took several steps backwards, before turning back to the anvil and muttering words she did not understand. The air was tense until Gobber finally crashed through the front door, cursing as he got to his feet. She rose from the stool and left through the front, walking up towards her house, wondering why the young man was reaching for her axe.

"Did ya get hurt, lad?" Gobber asked, sitting down on the stool, drinking mead from his prosthetics. "I swear she look'd like ye were a dead yak, Hiccup."

"I would not be surprised - I am the Useless afterall, the boy who screws up big time." Hiccup said, hammering a sword which was bent like it was used as a crowbar. "Who does not look at me like that? And no - you too, Gobber." he said, seeing his mentor's mouth open to answer. The blacksmith smirked.

"Ye know not everybody hates ye, lad. Yer jus' not Viking-like, that's all." he said casually, before spitting on the ground, groaning. "This mead is jus' gettin' worse and worse. I'll have te drink salt water to wash me mouth one day."

"Thanks for summing that up." Hiccup said, sarcasm edging his voice. "I guess the Hall has gourmet menu again? I haven't eaten there in a week…" His gaze swept through the forge, resting on the door to the room at the back, his private workshop and home.

"Yak stew, smoked fish and smoked eel, with this Thor-forsaken mead." Gobber answered, spilling the contents of his tankard-prosthetics and changing it for the hook. "That kid is still after ye?"

"Snotlout?" the young man asked, throwing a dagger to the scrap pile. "Yes, still beating me up few times a week. I wonder if he has the courage to finally ask me out on a date, he seems very interested." he answered, scowling at the one-legged, laughing smith who almost fell to the ground. He took a look at the pile of weapons, finding it nowhere. He put his apron down, sitting on another stool, wiping sweat away from his face. After a few minutes, he stood up and went out for a brief walk, breathing in the fresh air and standing on the edge of the nearby cliff overlooking the seastacks on the horizon. He did not notice the small dots at first, but they grew bigger, and he narrowed his eyes, trying to get what those were. His eyes widened at the realisation, and he ran back to the forge, shouting from the top of his lungs.

"Ships are coming!"

{_}

The masts were straight and the men were on their top as the ships sailed past the seastacks. The big waves of the storm left the hulls damaged, even one of the noses beyond repair. The small fleet was in tough situation, risking whatever was left from their voyage sailing towards the only island they had seen on the map close to their position. A man of twenties was shouting orders, throwing curses at the sailors, even hurling a handful of ropes at the slower ones.

"We need to get there, men! You either work harder or die trying!" he bellowed, pointing at the island in front of them, far on the horizon. His hands skimmed over the navigation tools, confident in the patch of land he had chosen for destination. He had been the officer of the Imperium afterall - brave, fierce, intelligent and outmost loyal to his beloved Emperor.

The sun was way over them, but the air was still cold, nothing like the warm coasts of Lyzedra or the friendly waters of the Inner Sea. Still, he had found nothing harsh enough to stop him from reaching his goal - until the recent storm, which had taken them into uncharted waters. The tiny armada had two navigators on board apart from him, and none of them could find anything about these islands, except that they were here and potentionally abandoned. Potentionally. This was the word that planted some fears in his heart which he was not capable of dismissing completely. If he was right, then his men can finally take a rest and get to repair the damaged ships; if not, his men were up to a fight against a foe they had only heard of in tales - tales of insane savages, fearing no man, not even Death itself, as well as of unknown flying beasts spitting fire and terror at every moving thing beneath the sky, turning meadows into scorched wastelands, devouring man and animal in whole, all while being indestructible and incredibly powerful. His grandfather led his last expedition to these uncivilized lands, only to never return, his shield and insignia retrieved by his men who went insane after meeting with one of those unspeakable horrors many adventurers met and just few lived to tell the tale, or not even those.

"Captain, I think the island is already habited!" a young sailor shouted from the rigging, his eyes seemingly on the mass of land ahead of them. "I see smoke and buildings, sir!"

He stopped on his track and held his breath. The island had inhabitants. It meant that they might set a deal with them and trade valuables for food, water and other necessities. On the other hand, the natives might be savages and attack them outright, way before they could initiate talks. He considered the facts. His men were tired and unrest started to worry the officers, while the food supply was low and the horses and even simple soldiers had scarce meals. Even if the people of the island were agressive, they must reach the land and make a beachhead, or else there may be no men to feed anymore. He decided.

"Get the guns ready, and sound an alarm! Prepare for landing!" he shouted and the whole ship bursted into chaos. The sailors were opening up barrels of gunpowder and the crates of heavy cannon shots were laid on the main and lower decks. Musketmen and dragoons were running up from beneath the planks, forming into lines as their sergeants were crying out orders. Captain Vulus did not hesitate to load his carbine, his two trusted pistols before taking the sabre and watching the island slowly grow from a smudge on the horizon into an enormous giant. The sailor was right - huts and wooden buildings formed a village on this side, with a huge, door-looking thing set into the nearby mountain. He saw docks and ships resting in front of a tall, natural stone wall, with a long wooden set of stairs as the only means of entrance and exit.

"Form ranks, and storm those stairs as soon as you get off! Shoot anybody who might want to destroy it, or else we die here from enemy fire!" he shouted and the men all replied with a loud "Yes, sir!". Primitive catapults towered over the ships, and the fleet finally got to the docks. Men started to swing off, landing on the wooden planks, running towards the objective. Some horses were already set down, with dragoons getting onto them and riding off to clash with anybody opposing their forces. A small mountaineer detachment ran past as Vulus set his foot on the crude docks, breathing in the salty air.

It was different. It had some pine and grassy smell in it, with a pinch of wild flowers and snow. It reminded him of the training camps near the mountans of Makros, where he had spent his best years as a cadet of the Imperial Armee. He shook of his thoughts when a dragoon stopped just in front of him, taking his helmet off.

"Sir, we had taken the stairs and no signs of hostile forces are present." he said, saluting the captain.

"Advance with care, look for any traps and defend your flanks." Vulus said, walking towards the stairs while the rider went past him, carrying his orders to the lieutenant he assigned to the invasion - Brex. He hated to admit it, but the stubborn, hotheaded and cruel officer was the best he could offer, and he was sure his subordinate will always follow his word, even if the Evil Incarnate came against them. The young lieutenant has been at his side since he was promoted to Captain - and never left his side, not even when the Traitoris Order falsely accusated him of treachery and heresy. Since then, while not always pleased at the attitude of the officer, he trusted him with his life, no matter what the situation was.

At the top of the stairs, he saw Brax shout orders to the men around while the Mountaineers loaded their rifled muskets. He sensed that something was wrong. It was silent. The buildings now had no smoke coming out of their chimneys, nor were the big double doors open in the side of the mountain. He felt his men getting nervous at the unnatural silence. He ordered them to move forward, and he moved with them until they reached an open square, probably acting as the centre of the settlement. The musketeers and dragoons formed a circle, still casting worried looks as the silence was only broken by their feet shuffling and murmured prayers.

Suddenly, a huge man burst from one of the buildings, holding an axe the size of a big boar, running at them and growling like a dog whose meat was taken by force. A moment later more followed from all sides, branding swords, maces, nets, hammers, bolas, spears and even cleavers.

"Ready!" Vulus shouted from the top of his lungs, his men readying their muskets and carbines and pistols at the enemy crowd.

"Aim!" The man took aim, some cocking their weapons and praying silently as the savage warriors closed on the small circle.

"FIRE!"


	2. Ch 2: Unknown Foes

**So here's the first update, just because I have already written this part along with the first one. If anyone wonders, the Imperium closely resembles the Roman Empire, although infused with some elements of French and Spanish feudal elements, and is on the technological level of the late-18th century France.**

{_}

Hiccup heard the noises coming from the village square. It resembled the sound of Gronckles spitting their molten rounds, his eyes locked on the big doors, now barricaded on the inside. Most of the villagers were in the Great Hall, except for a gang of warriors, led by the Chief, who attempted to set an ambush for the intruders. He heard the faint screams even through the thick walls, accompanied by a menacing battlecry of the attackers. He looked around, and for once he saw the same things in every eyes meeting his: fear, helplessness, suffering, uncertainity. Only Snotlout and the Thorstons seemed to not realise the weight of the situation, drinking mead and discussing what they saw of the unknown men from beyond. The Elders - at least what remained inside of them - argued at a table near the centre, separated into two even groups. Gobber was gesturing wildly, with Gothi silently nodding at every sentence he said, while Spitelout Jorgenson was growing angry more with every word. Behind them, at a secluded table, sat Astrid, leaning over her tankard and bread, deep in her thoughts. Hiccup stood up and slowly moved closer to the Elders' table to eavesdrop on their conversation, hoping to get some more information about how these invaders look like.

"I tell ya - if we go out'ere, ye all get hacked to death and we get enslaved, Spitelout!" growled Gobber, his face red from anger and stress. "Ye saw them, ye should know they are no Vikings like us!"

"Gobber is right! If we attack them, we get killed! There are more of their warriors than ours!" said Sven on his high-pitched voice.

"My brother is out there, risking his life to protect us! What do you think, if he dies, who will take over his duty? His son of a-"

"Fishbone!"

Hiccup almost fell back when Spitelout greeted him in his usual spiteful way of launching a blow at his back. He stiffened and his back started to ache as it did two days ago, after a beating behind the Arena.

"Why are you not out there with your Dad, Useless? I bet the attacking tribesmen will want a toothpick for themselves!" he said, laughing with the twins Ruffnut and Tuffnut when he thrusted Hiccup's head straight into the table. His nose was bleeding as well as his lips, his eyes shadowy and in small patches.

"Just… leave me away…" the young man said, catching his breath when Snotlout pulled his head back by the hair.

"Hey, Tuff, Ruff, did you hear that?" Snotlout asked arrogantly, kicking the side Hiccup and throwing him to the ground. "Did Useless try to tell me what to do?"

The young apprentice could only see blurry patches of colours floating, but slowly he had started to recognize various shapes and even saw Gobber throwing his hand and hook around. He felt dizzy, vomit rising in his throat, his back throbbing in pain. He tried to stand up, although he did not feel his feet, only to get pushed back onto the ground. He looked around and caught the eyes of Astrid, holding him to stay still, while Gothi was scribbling furiously onto a neat pile of sand near them.

"Ye could've killed the lad, Snotlout! Are ye stupid or were ye jus' born into the wrong body? Maybe a yak woul' be betta!" Gobber shouted, boiling with rage, straight at the bulky man next to his father, who shared the same angry look.

"Idiot! I have already told you a thousand times to not hurt your cousin at all!" Spitelout yelled, not caring who hears it ot not. Hiccup did not see their faces, only their feet, but heard something suspiciously simmilar to the sound of a huge slap. He forced himself to look up and met the ashamed and hurt face of Snotlout and the growling scowls of the two men, locked onto the three young adults.

"Get off 'im, lass, I had enough of ye all!" said Gobber, pushing the shield-maiden away and carrying the beaten figure towards the back of the hall. He sat him onto a stool and poured a mug of mead for Hiccup. His head was still spinning, his feet shaking and trembling, although he managed to hold his vomit back.

"Will ya manage, lad? Ye took it bad." the blacksmith said, offering him the mugful of drink.

"The last time still has its marks, that's why it hurts so much." Hiccup said dismissively, taking a sip. "I think I better stay here."

"It's on ye, Hiccup. Just be safe till' we sort out this mess."

{_}

"Reload! Don't let them come near! Every tenth musketeer load real shots! Aim for their legs!"

The whole square was in chaos, as far as he could see. The semi-infantry circle seemed to hold the attacking savages back, but they did not expect such resistance and their supplies were running low. He heard the curses and cries of his sergeants, aiming to get the musketeers and dragoons to maintain the formation against all odds. He had to think of something fast. Breaking out of their encirclement was out of question - even if they managed to, they could not maintain supporting fire for all soldiers to escape. He needed to handle this diplomatically. He learned to speak this northern language, read and write runes when he was first assigned to assist a small team of natives in their reconquest of their home island - which ended up in failure.

He rapidly looked around, searching one among these wild warriors who may be their leader. He spotted a tall, wide man among them with red hair and long beard, shouting and gesturing towards his men. Vulus started running, grabbing one of his pistols and his sabre, dodging several attackers before stopping a few feets away from the leader. He did not see him yet, so he checked his pistol, nodding as seeing it loaded in the way he wanted. He shouted curses at the supposed leader, taunting to make the first move. Vulus did not have to wait long - the warrior almost immediately started charging towards him, just as he expected from the savage. He dodged, stepping to the right, letting the huge form past him. He turned and held his pistol straight, aiming at the chest, just a few inches from the shocked man.

"Good night." Vulus said and pulled the trigger, the pistol unloading at the unfortunate victim. The tall figure froze for a split second, then fell face first into the mud. The captain quickly loaded his pistol, expecting another foe to come. To his surprise, the tribesmen started retreating, a few attempting to get their leader's body, before scared back by the swiftly formed infantry line. Vulus leaned over the body of his former foe, inspecting the armour and weapons he carried.

"What should we do now, sir?" Brix asked him, crouching down next to the axe, sliding his fingers along the edge of the weapon.

"Build barricades and assign men to form a beachhead," he answered, before gesturing at the muddy form still in the mud. "And bring this body to my cabin. I want to see it more."

{_}

"Stoick is dead!"

The whole Hall went silent when one of the guards ran in, shouting this same line for three minutes before collapsing in front of the Elders. Nobody could speak, all frozen in shock as they learned their Chief is dead. Gobber, spaced out, sat down and spilled his mead, staring at the door, silent. Spitelout, as loud as he was, now only could let out garbles and small, indecipherable squeaks.

Hiccup felt his heart pound in his throat as realization hit him. His father, Stoick the Vast, the Vengeful, the best warrior Berk ever knew, the best leader, their shield and champion now lay dead on the cold ground, killed by some unknown soldier listening to unknown orders, using unknown weapons, thinking of unknown deeds, hailing from an unknown land… No dragon could ever bring down him, yet these attackers brought his end forth, dooming Berk and its inhabitants. He was the heir, but he was a runt, a fishbone, the misfortune of the village, the shame of the tribe. He was not a Viking, he was not strong or good with weapons. He was nothing like his father.

He saw the scared eyes rise once more as the giant doors opened again, and the warriors started pouring in, carrying wounded but no dead. He heard some ask for Stoick's body, but the men could only shake their heads. He felt the ground slip beneath him and everything went black.


	3. Ch 3: The Cabin

**So I actually finished this chapter, although the fourth is near complete, but whatever. Feel free to leave suggestions and complain if you do not understand something - I will try to answer all questions in the following chapters through storytelling.** **Disclaimer: I wrote this on my way home at 4 AM, tired and dizzy. If it is bad, blame the disastrous education system.**

{_}

"So, savage… tell me about your island."

Stoick was chained to an iron cage, hungry, thirsty and his head still ringing. The leader of the invaders was sitting on a chair, sipping a liquid he recognised as wine by smell. Although he was growling at his captor, the man spoke in an almost perfect dialect of Low Nordic, and it surprised him. He saw the bloody and muddy coat hanging from a nail on the wall, his murderous wonderweapons placed on the table, next to the bottles of wine and a bucket of water with a piece of cloth.

"Listen, I know you are their leader. I know you are their Chief - or whatever." Vulus said, turning to Stoick. "Do you even understand me?"

The chief of Berk sat in the cage, still. He was shocked by what the man told him. He was kept there as a hostage. A bargaining chip. He levered his eyes, meeting the cold pairs outside the bars, staring at him, waiting an answer.

"What do you want from Berk?" Stoick asked in a calm, deep tone. The Imperial officer's eyes widened at his words, the glass of wine falling onto the floor, shattering.

"By the Emperor, we understand each other!" The captain said, his tone warmed by relief and the pang of anxiety vanishing from his heart. "So this island is called 'Berk'?"

"Yes."

"How big is this settlement? By population, I mean." Vulus said, his hand reaching for a piece of paper and a quill.

"Around four hundred." Stoick lied, making the village seem bigger than in reality.

"How many warriors?"

"Two hundred." The chief lied again, trying to pull the chains off, or at least break his shackles. The Imperial noticed his efforts and shook his head, letting out a small, silent chuckle.

"It's Magurian steel - not even the monsters of North can break it." Vulus said, leaning closer to the prisoner. His eyes gleamed of intrication and, surprisingly, sympathy.

"I know you are worried for your tribe. I would do the same if it happened to my men." He stood up, Stoick following him, looking straight in his eyes. "I offer you a deal. You give us food and supplies, and your village will be left alone."

"The savage should take it." Vulus turned around to face Brex, who was leaning to the wall, a piece of rolled tobacco smoking in his mouth. "I am sorry to break your romantic date so soon, sir, but we have a situation."

Vulus grabbed his coat and pistols, hurriedly taking them on while entering the lower decks and emerging from the dark, sweaty shadows into the salty air. The upper deck was full, with sailors and soldiers sitting and standing everywhere possible. The all stared at the same direction, forming a circle around a small band of children. The young tribesmen were holding tiny spears , shaking as at least five dozen muskets were aimed at them. He growled and spit on the ground, passing throught the opening on the crowd. As he got closer, he heard high-pitched voices, shouting and one of them possibly crying. When he arrived to the middle of the deck, he saw the ragtag team - a group of young Vikings, led by a blonde haired woman. His men were confused, their bayonetts fixed on their muskets, not knowing what to actually do.

"Let us go - they are children!" the young female shouted in Nordic, a two-headed axe in her hands, shielding the smallest child from the guns.

"I will decide who will be granted to leave and who will not!" Vulus bellowed, finally stepping out from the crowd. "And intruders are not welcome anywhere, especially not on the Invicta!"

The blonde was shocked - the same as Stoick - at the words of the captain. Before she could react, two set of hands pinned her to the nearest cage, accompanied by a third one pushing the barrel of a pistol to her neck. She heard her axe being kicked around, the children crying and the invaders shouting, then a metal clang was heard and she found her arms in shackles. She tried to shake them off, but they did not even move an inch.

"Move this newfound prisoner to a second cage - next to his Chief!" Vulus ordered, his slight smile dropping when he saw the Viking children surrounded by his dragoons. "Brex!"

"Yes, captain?"

"Escort them back to the village, and point them to the giant doors in the mountain. Give them food and water before you let them go." he ordered, turning his back on the bunch, walking towards his cabin to meet the intriguing newcomer. He opened the door, and the cage with the female was already inside, with a standing form looking at the windows. Vulus put his pistols down, grabbing two glasses of wine before walking closer to the two prisoners. He placed one glass each inside their respective cages, earning a gruff from the tall Viking and a wide eye from the blonde.

"So, I suppose you are a female warrior, am I correct?" the officer asked, lighting rolled tobacco and letting out a small cloud of smoke.

"How do you speak our language?" the female asked, her hands shaking slightly. She felt the steel armcuffs tighten on her hand when she tried to pull it towards the bars of the cage. The Imperial laughed and patted off the ash from his crude cigarette.

"Imperii officers have to speak several languages. Otherwise we would not understand most of our auxiliaries."

"What are 'auxiliaries'? What are you all doing here?" she asked, lifting the glass from the floor. "And what is this foul drink?"

"It's wine, taste it." he laughed, puffing and coughing a bit. "We are Imperials, from south. We came here and got lost on our way. That is how we ended up near your lovely little island."

"You did not come to invade us?"

Both Vulus and the blonde stared at the form of Stoick, who stood up and clutched the bars with his hands. The officer stood up and walked to his cage, standing only the diatance of an arm in front of the prisoner.

"We did not."

"Then why attacking my people? Why unleashing the power of your Odin-forsaken contraptions and hurt them?"

Vulus could not answer right away. He tried to formulate an explanation, summarizing what he thought of their landing, but just shook his head.

"That is how we deal with unknown islands back in the Imperium."

{_}

Hiccup was lying on his makeshift bed when the sound of the alarm broke the silence. Everybody started running around, gathering weapons and sprinting to man the catapults and defend the houses. He got up, his head dizzy from the impact it had with the floor earlier. He saw Gobber and Spitelout leaving the Hall, while Gothi scribbled instructions as fast as he had never seen.

"Without Dad, we are in chaos." he thought, walking to the injured to see if he could lend a hand.

The warriors all seemed to get their legs beaten only, so his duty mostly consisted of rebandaging and cleaning the wound. While he was helping Ack, he noticed one of the strange weapons lying next to the wall, with weird looking pouches and a long rod neatly placed with it. He swiftly finished the redressing and grabbed the gun, wondering how it was able to spit fire like dragons so. Hiccup got an idea. He took the pouches and the long rod along with the weapon and went to the back of the Great Hall into one of the emergency storehouses, currently empty as the fishing season was yet to start. He examined the device and readied the cock, noticing how it smelled of the unnatural powder one of the pouches was full of.

BAM

He hit the floor as the flames erupted from the barrel, recoil flunging the boy back.

"What the hell…" Hiccup groaned, too dizzy to be shocked. He stood up, grabbing one of the wooden crates as support. He examined the strange weapon again, readying the cock and pulling the metal under it with caution. To his surprise, nothing happened, except the flint hitting the steel hard and sparks popping up.

"So you work like this… but what makes you breathe fire?" Hiccup wondered, placing it on the ground before grabbing the pouch with the powder. He picked up some of it and smelled it, instantly dropping it onto the ground - and the weapon. He took it up again, trying to clean it from the mess, lifting the lock. He almost got to the steel flintlock itself when, ironically, he accidentally fired it again and instead of sparks flame erupted.

"This powder is flammable, I see… but why would they have a pouch full of small iron balls with them?" he asked himself.

It took several minutes until he figured out that those invaders used the weapon to hurl the small balls at their enemies at unbelievable speed. Almost half an hour passed when he had made his first shot with it all by himself and another quarter to learn the use of the long rod which could fit just under the barrel. Hiccup thought that this strange weapon was brought straight from Hel and it was unreal. Then realisation hit him: these fire-spitting contraptions could take down the equally terrifying, fire-spitting dragons!

He scrambled to his feet and loaded the gun, taking up the pouches and running out, past the injured warriors and scared families, bursting through the big doors. The village was a mess and the dragons were agressive, but only towards the Vikings as they left the ships and the barricades unharmed.

He was not left much to think as a large Nadder landed next to him, snarling and growling at the young man. Hiccup froze for a split second before shakily aiming for the dragon's head. The beast was coming closer with every second, its tail ready to maul Hiccup with spikes. He calmed himself a bit and aimed again, now his hands not shaking and his grip solid.

"Oh, Thor, make it work." he said, closing his eyes.

And he pulled the trigger.


	4. Dragons against Dragons against Vikings

**So, another chapter, maybe worse than ever, who knows? Last time Astrid and Stoick got into trouble and Hiccup was near death, with Vulus and the Imperii getting their first fight against dragons and (hopefully not) maybe Vikings.** **I wrote this chapter during nights and the occasional travelling freetime, so be hard when it comes to criticising my work - I love helpful advices and people pointing out my mistakes!**

{_}

"Get on the deck and move yer asses! These mindless beasts are out for the kill!"

The top deck of the Invicta looked like hell unleashed. Dead bodies were scattered around, stomped on by the living sailors rushing to weapon lockers and portable cannons. Dragon attack came unexpected and caught the whole fleet in the middle of repairing the Vivienne, unarmed and unfit for combat. Vulus glanced at the village, surprised at the sight of Vikings roaring and mauling the Emperor-damned flying lizards with ease.

"Tighten formations! Load grapeshots! Aim for their eyes!" he bellowed, grabbing a musket and checking the barrel. He barely had time to cock the gun before a Monstrous Nightmare landed near the center mast, crushing two other of his men in its roaring rage. He did not hesitate - the musket ball hit it straight between the eyes, the monster collapsing, blood pouring out from the eyesockets. He jumped down onto a platform and quickly descended to the ground, finding himself running towards the stairs leading to the island's higher parts.

"Sir, the cannons will not be ready for a few minutes!" a musketeer shouted to him, crouching beside the remains of a steel barrel, once containing molten slag. "And High Smith Midorus sends his best wishes!"

"Tell the High Smith that the captain has no time for puns!" he shouted back, loading his pistols and the musket he brought along. "Why is the Vulcanus still silent?!"

"The main engine is dead sir! The High Smith is currently working hard to get the bellows moving again!"

Vulus realised what this meant. Midorus got the big gun stuck, thus the whole attack was in favor of the dragons scorching their ships and the village. The grapeshot volley was still in preparation, and muskets and pistols could never stop this madness. He opened his mouth to shout an order to the young man, but a loud shrieking noise broke the hell before the musketeer and the remains of the barrel disappeared in a purple light. He flung towards the charred scraps, his eyes getting filled with tears when he held up a blackened corpse, a deformed musket lying next to it. He could not hold back his tears. He still saw the dutiful face of the young soldier, shouting messages to him and ducking from dragon fire, waiting for his captain to move, to save him and everyone around. He waited for him to bring an end to this carnage.

Rage filled him, such a rage he hadn't felt in a long time. His surroundings slowed down, his heart beating at inhuman speed. He felt his grip tighten on his pistol and sabre, his vengeful eyes woving to end this all and make the dragons pay a thousand times for messing with the soldiers of the Imperium, his beloved men. He knew that the Outcast was coming for him. He saw black shades curl around the stairs and the docks, faint laughter and grim faces pointing at him were visible in the dark fog.

"If I have to die this day, I will make these beasts run for their home." he thought before sprinting up to the village, bursting into the madness of the hellish battle.

{_}

Hiccup was not dead. He did not dare opening his eyes until a few second passed. He slowly stood up, the used musket in his grip, his eyes fixed on the huge body lifelessly lying on the ground. The ball must've hit it straight in his nose as its head had a giant hole the size of his boots. He knew he had no time to spare, but he could not move from the site of the first dragon he ever killed. He failed at Dragon Training, his father rejected him, he was skinny and considered a runt - he thought he could never kill a dragon in his lifetime, which he actually considered short after the increasing number of dragon raids recently.

"I killed a dragon with this thing…" he murmured, nervously reloading the musket which saved his life. Weirdly, for the first time, he defended himself and he was successful. He felt a surge of adrenaline at the thought, but he now feared the unknown warriors more. If this contraption could kill a dragon in a second, what chance did he - the village runt and occasional joke of the year -have against it? He shook off his thoughts when he finished loading the rifle, priming the lock and cocking it. His plan formulated in his head, getting crazier with every second, but he wanted to risk it.

"If it works, then the whole situation will be solved. At least on human parts."

{_}

"Damn these cages! What are they made of?!" Astrid growled when her last attempt to escape ended in failure. She grew more restless with every second, the flames just increasing her anger and - surprisingly - fear.

"It is of no use, Astrid." Stoick said, sitting on the ground, staring in front of him. "He said it is some kind of special iron. Not even dragons can break it."

"We have to get out! Berk is in danger!"

"As will be my men if we let you out."

A dark shape was standing in the shadows, letting out a sound akin to laughter, but much more malicious. As it revealed itself, the blonde saw the same officer who bellowed orders to keep the sailors at bay before leaving the deck and returning with the leader. He wore the same coat as the captain, albeit much more dirty and with less flair, appearing more as a battle-hardened man-at-arms than a fancy soldier. She saw his lips curl into a cruel smile, his eyes gleaming with pure pleasure and humour.

"Your kind is very interesting, miss. We, Imperials, always thought that your kin has no sense of duty nor anything else than berserking and pillaging. Very, very interesting." he said, holding a pistol and a sabre. "So your name is Astrid?"

"Let me out!" the woman cried, her armcuffs tightening as she forced herself to the bars.

"I am afraid that is not possible, unless our beloved captain comes back and decides otherwise, but I doubt he would commit such an idiocy as letting precious prisoners free." Brex said, his eyes rested on a pile of various keys.

"Captain Vulus has gone mad again, sir!" a musketeer rushed in, pointing towards the supposed direction where he came from. "He is at the village center, sir!"

Astrid saw the blood drain from the face of the officer. His grip tightened on his weapons, his eyes now filled with fear and terror. She could not understand what the soldier said, but she knew that it scared the man who had been picking on her a minute ago. The officer shouted something what sounded like an order or warning and sprinted off, leaving the simple musket-wielding man behind. He seemed to be nervous of being left alone with two unknown barbarians, and his hands tightened around the gun.

"Damn these pricks and their cages and all of them…" Astrid hissed through her teeth, her grip on the bars, the armcuffs tightening more.

BAM

The form of the musketeer stiffened, then fell to the floor, blood pouring onto the wooden boards. She fell backwards, her eyes set on the dead body which now had blood pour from its mouth. She lifted her gaze after a few seconds, now set on the dark figure standing in the entrance.

{_}

It was one Hel of a journey, but he made it. He sneaked down to the docks amidst the chaos of the fight between humans and dragons, and now he was standing next to a pile of crates, trying to catch a glimpse of any leftover guards near the ships. Hiccup saw none, so he started walking towards the hulls looming in the dim light. They were weird designs, higher and bigger than their longships, two of them fitted with sails, but two ones, a bit farther, were not. Instead, they had huge wheel-looking constructs set on their sides, one third of those underwater. He wondered how those were supposed to move around when he noticed something glitter on the side of the nearest - and second biggest - ship. He moved closer, his hands feeling the cold metal which served as additional armour on the giant hulls. He looked puzzled, wondering even more how these heavy ships were still floating when a shrieking noise snapped him out. He resumed concentrating on his goal: releasing his father from captivity. He took the rope ladder and climbed up, hurling himself over the side, landing behind a big crate which smelled of metal, the flammable powder and - oil?

He lifted his hands to sniff them, confirming his suspicions of the unknown smell being of some kind of oil, which was black in colour. He wiped it off in his pants and moved closer to a hatch and dived in. He stood up and saw nobody down there, everything pitch black with only faint light coming from the back of the ship. He walked towards it, his eyes getting slowly used to the dark, noticing weird items lying on the floor. He made the mental note to check them out on his way out before diving silently behind a pile of nets when a human figure burst out from the room, rushing to a set of stairs. He got closer and saw a musketeer standing in the center of the room, in his hands the same musket Hiccup gripped right then. He prepared for this moment and lifted the musket, aiming at the back of the target, hoping to hit his heart and kill him instantly. He was breathing hard and had to swiftly calm himself before he pulled the trigger. The musket unloaded, the shot making a nice hole on the man before the body fell to the floor. He walked in, his hands still tight around the weapon.

He could only stare when Astrid was looking at him, sitting in a cage and her hands in armcuffs. He shook his head and went for the keys sitting on the table, quickly figuring out which pair of keys opened the cages and the shackles. None of them said a word, not even Stoick, and Hiccup liked it that way. He was silent because he did not want to alert any guards nearby and he did not even know what he was supposed to say. He released both Vikings from their cages and set their arms free before loading the musket again. He could barely believe he killed a dragon and he now killed one of these invaders - this must be a dream or a nightmare. He did not know which, but he hoped it would end when the first rays of the sun woke him up in the workshop, along with Gobber's loud curses and the smell of coal and iron.

He heard steps closing and he finished with the musket when another musketeer stopped at the door, staring at the three Vikings in the cabin. He turned back and ran out, his voice cutting through the sounds of the ongoing battle around them.

"Intruders!"


	5. Ch 5: Past Issues

**So, kind of late, kind of short, kind of just one scene, but it is for the better of the series, I promise. This chapter may explain some things about our beloved captain and his past as well, while acting as a bridge between an entity (which I am totally not spoiling right now) and him.** **Feel free to leave any suggestions or ideas in comments and criticise my work if you think I made some mistakes somewhere - I will act and fix it accordingly.**

{_}

"Vulus?"

The chandeliers swung in the breeze of the sea, their eerie light spanning through the big hall where the young captain was sitting on a chair. He did not look up, his eyes fixed on the giant painting depicting a man in golden armour, holding a long steel sword and large tower shield, standing in the middle of a battlefield, gracefully looking down on anybody watching his still figure. Vulus grasped his saber tightly, his mind racing through astral clouds of thoughts and questions.

"Vulus?"

The question pierced his imaginary wall, the soft female voice shattering his thoughts, leaving space for the anxiety and fear he tried to forget.

"Yes, Anastasia?" he asked, turning towards the form standing in the door. His sister was dressed in a fine tunic decorated with golden thread woven into it in delicate patterns. Her small tiara held her black hair from spreading everywhere, keeping her round face and piercing green eyes in sight, to much pleasure of the young men of Astrada.

"Are you sure taking up this assignment was the good choice?" she asked, her steps echoing through the hall as the distance between the siblings faltered. "Father thinks that you decided well, but I and Mother think otherwise."

"Anastasia, I am an officer in service of the Emperor. Whatever he orders me to do I will carry out." he answered, standing up to face the young woman. "Even if I do not return, Father and Mother will have you."

"Stop saying this idiocy, Vulus. You will return, I am sure of it."

"Yes, I will return." he chuckled, easing his pose. "Either on my feet or on my shield."

Anastasia flinched at the phrase. Vulus did not seem to think anything about his recent words, still eyeing the giant painting towering over the two of them.

"Vulus, please, for once be reasonable and refuse the-"

"Vulus!"

The doors on the other side of the hall burst open, revealing a tall man with a black beard, dressed in a formal uniform and holding a long walking stick in his left hand.

"Good to see you again, Father." Vulus said, straightening her pose, acting like an officer would do when meeting a high-ranking member of the court. Basically, that was the case.

Alponsus II Cesaerius was one of the twelve aquilifiers of the Imperium, each governing a provintia along with their local Trade Lords. He, as many knew, fought in numerous battles against the southern sultanates and the eastern khanates, even looting a battle standard of one of the warring tribes from the Scorched Wastes. After his comission and receivement of landed title, he settled down in Astrada, marrying the woman he loved and having two children: Vulus, the heir to the title and now captain of the Imperial Army; and Anastasia, a bright-minded beauty whose sheer glance proved to be irresistible to the men throughout the Imperium.

"It has been a long time since your last visit! How do you fare, son?" the man clapped his shoulders before trapping him in a crushing hug.

"I do as well as the Emperor wants me to" Vulus said, trying to get some air before his father killed him by suffocation. "And how are the years treating you, Father?"

"Very well, so far, I can not complain." the man replied, releasing him from the deadly hug. "Anastasia, will you leave us for a few minutes?"

The young woman nodded and left the room in a hurry, closing the double doors behind herself. The breeze from the sea still made the chandeliers swing from and to, and the giant painting was now staring at them - father and son, face to face.

"I heard of your assignment, son. It is of serious matter to us and the Emperor." Alponsus started, turning towards the unanimate figure on the wall. "He gave you this mission for a reason, Vulus - to prove yourself of your worthiness, bravery and loyalty to the Eternal Throne. I am very proud of you, son. You had chosen a real soldier's path."

"It is my duty to serve the Imperium and the Emperor, even if it led to my violent death, Father. You had done the same when your time came, and now it is mine." He looked at his father, who still stared at the picture. "I am afraid this may be our last chance to meet in this life, Father."

Alponsus now turned to his son, shocked and confused, hoping his son is joking and it was near Forgiveness Day, so he could blame this on the traditions. On the contrary, Vulus was serious and did not seem to fall to the floor, laughing, anytime near.

"What are you saying, son, it is just courier job-"

"I see. The Equestrian General was right - they did not tell you all." Vulus snickered, turning and walking to the windows overlooking the city at night. "I am being sent to recover an artifact, Father. Some kind of ancient device of sorts. It is said that with that, we could end the threat these Northerners mean to us in a snap" Vulus snapped, illustrating how fast he imagined the process. "I am to stay until we find the relic - and I will come back; either on my feet or on my shield.

Alponsus winced - almost the same reaction as his daughter, but for different reasons. While Anastasia hated the phrase for what it was used to indicate, the man feared it for what it was meant to deliver - the information, that the battles ahead will not be in his son's favour and hold a big chance of claiming his life before he could return to the Imperium and become a successful officer. He did not expect such to happen to Vulus, but now there was no turning back for him. He offered up his life for the Emperor and he knew he was determined to finish the assignement, even if it cost his very life he mended and protected over the years.

"I see." he said, his hand grasping his son's shoulders in silence. "What about Gherinnya? How did the landing go for you?"

Vulus closed his eyes and remembered that invasion. They were put on the smaller boats, his men padding like there was no tomorrow, all the while musket balls and cannon shots landed heavily near them, throwing giant columns of water up into the air, sometimes catching unfortunate men, blowing them into small pieces of flesh and bone, their blood spraying over the shiny waves. Paddle. Paddle. Paddle. Do not think. Paddle. Jump off. Load pistol. Fire. Load pistol. Fire. Use the musket of a dead man. Fire. Reload. Fire. He remembered running towards the trenches, his saber cutting through the enemy like knife does with butter, each screaming and crying in agony. Cut. Slash. Fire. Kill. Kill. Kill. Somebody shouted. What did he shout? Was it some curse? Was it a warning? A warning of what? He remembered his question being answered immediately - a young soldier disappeared in the impact. Mortars. He ran to the nearest trench and jumped in, rushing through them towards the supposed artillery placements. Some musketeers joined him on his way and when they popped up on the other side of the hill, he discovered that only few enemies operated the deadly machines, without weapons or protection. Forming ranks. Curses. Loading musket. Aim. Fire. Dead. Blood everywhere. Bodies fell onto the ground, and although there were firings and some bombing here and there, the landing was done and the island was now facing the rage of a whole Imperial legion. He felt dead inside as he looked over the beachline, littered with corpses and blood painting it red. He could not bear it. Do not think. Do never think. The Emperor wanted this. The Emperor protects us. The Emperor protects all.

"But why did not he protect them too?" he asked loudly, forgetting what his Father asked him and everything around him for that moment.

"Why did the Emperor want them dead?"


	6. Ch 6: Confrontation

**Okay, so this chapter must be horrible and terrible, but as I got no suggestions on my writing, I guess you roll with my grotesque style. Anyways, enjoy, make suggestions and criticize, this was all I could get out from this scenario.**

{_}

The fires were roaring around the men, with more and more houses being devoured by the flames of dragons. Some started to silently panic, praying to survive this madness when a big group of dragons started flying towards them. The sergeants shouted around and the soldiers scattered, spreading out to minimize losses, firing at the incoming beasts, but with no use. The Gronckles' skin were too hard for even the muskets and the shots richocheted. They were not trained for these kind of situations, the Imperium never prepared them to fight hellish monsters in an unknown land, without reinforcements and supplies. A pair of musketeers were caught in a fire and ran out from their covers, screaming in agony and clawing at their smoldering skins, slowly turning into black, charred remainders of something humanoid. The dragons turned to the giant rock the survivors used as cover, preparing to finish them with their molten lava shots. The men, recruit and sergeant alike, felt it was the end and all paid a small mental visit to their homeland, the Eternal Throne and their people, sheding a tear.

"DIE, FERAL BEASTS!"

The men flinched at the familliar voice and popped their heads up from behind the rock, to see their captain decapitate a dragon and shoot another one in the eye, berserking. Every eye set on him widened, like they were looking at some demon or cultist they heard from only tales and legends. Vulus was red from his head to toe, his uniform all smeared with the blood of dragons, his eyes filled with hate and fury.

"GET YOUR SHIT TOGETHER AND SHOOT THOSE MONSTERS!" Vulus shouted, throwing away the empty pistol and taking up another from a fallen soldier. He checked the barrel and the lock, and started running for a nearby Monstrous Nightmare, jumping on its back and running to its head before jumping away and unloading his gun on the head of the dragon. His men ran around, grabbing gunpowder and shots they left behind, reloading the muskets as fast as they could before following him through the chaos of the battle. The dragons, no matter how big or deadly they were, started falling in numbers, more and more prey to the firearms of the Imperial soldiers and Vulus' sword.

"CAPTAIN!"

Vulus turned to the direction the voice came, only to discover Brex with another detachment of musketeers and dragoons, advancing through the village square towards an increasing pile of dragons which they stood upon. Another dragon attempted to take a shot at killing Vulus, only to be shot straight in its two eyes, the dead husk now falling onto the other ones, almost crushing a dragoon. The lieutenant arrived, unloading his pistol on another, smaller dragon before turning to the bloody captain.

"Sir, a report came! The Invicta has been boarded by three Vikings!"

"Are the prisoners safe?" Vulus asked, loading his gun with gunpowder. "Is the Invicta being sunken?"

"No, sir, they seemed to release the two we caught before! They took out a guard I left behind!" Brex shouted, shooting another round at a form he thought to be a dragon.

"Are the smaller cannons set up around the village?"

"They are, sir! Loaded with grapeshots!"

Vulus didn't hesitate - he quickly located one and flung towards it, Brex following him in matching speed. The two ran their way to the cannon, Vulus taking the rear to aim while the young officer checked the load before raising a thumbs up, indicating that it is ready to use. The captain started turning it, his eyes scanning the dark night sky for a suitable target. His vision caught something pitch black, moving across the stary sky. Vulus calmed and aimed, his rage channelled into the precise movements of the cannon.

"Fire!"

Brex struck the ignition hole with the primer and the contraption flung back, the shot spraying all over the sky. Vulus' ears were ringing, but he still could take out the roar of the dragon he hit successfully. Brex turned away, loading his pistol before shooting a low-flying Nadder on the head. The captain turned away, but not before his eyes caught a form falling towards the northern parts of the island.

He shook his head and noted to check that place if he and his men survived this battle. His grip tightened and he swung back into action, cleaving and guns blazing, as the dragons started to fall back, much to the joy of the Vikings and Imperii alike.

{_}

"Hiccup, that was fantastic!" Astrid said as they ran towards the village, past fighting Vikings and Imperials, straight for the Great Hall. "How did you-"

"Now it is not the time!" Stoick shouted, preparing to get into the battle and drive the dragons and invaders off Berk. Hiccup and Astrid tried to match the chief in speed but gradually fell behind, the grown man strikingly faster than ever. It was a surprise when he stopped, at the edge of the village, staring at the retreating dragons and the soldiers chasing after them.

"Did they actually drive the beasts off?" Hiccup asked, astonished how soon the raid was over.

"They seem to." Stoick said, his hands gripping his axe they retrieved along a bag of various unknown tools and devices from the lower decks of the Invicta. "I think it is time they are gone from our island for good."

He stomped off, leaving the two young adults behind, who could only stand and watch the scene.

"Get the injured to the medics and pile up the dead!" Vulus shouted, his men working, carrying corpses and helping the wounded towards a makeshift camp being set up. A group of dragoons stood at the remains of a storehouse, discussing something and gesturing wildy. They seemed to settle and the others pushed one of them - a burly, wide-chested one - towards the direction of their senior officer.

"Captain!" the dragoon shouted, pointing at the officer. "We all saw you during the fight! We all saw that you were possessed by something!"

"It is complete-" Brex started, abruptly cut off my the hand of the captain motioning silence.

"And what brought you to this conclusion?" Vulus asked, coolly.

"No man can fight this well, unless they make a deal with the Outcast!" the dragoon shouted.

"So you accuse me of heresy? Of demon-worshipping? Of abandoning my Emperor?"

"Yes, I accuse you of her-"

BAM

The man stiffened then fell to the ground, face first. Vulus pulled his gun back, putting it back to his belt before spreading his arms.

"Anyone else trying to imply the lie of me abandoning my faith?" he asked, his eyes scanning the crowd. No soul had said anything, the silence of fear settling on the village square. After a few minutes, he opened his mouth to order them back to work, but a giant form breaking through the ranks and stopping in the centre of the square cut him off.

"What are you doing with my village?" Stoick growled, his axe in his hands.

"It is called 'damage control', savage." Brex said, not lifting his eyes from the reports.

"We are trying to get the wounded medical care and prepare the dead for the burial." Vulus said, eyeing the huge Viking in front of him. "Is there any problem with it?"

"Yes!" The chief growled, and flung into action - his axe cutting through air as the officer stepped away a moment before the blade could have touched him. Before Stoick could have made another move, he heard a metallic click behind him and saw a circle of musketmen formed around him and the Imperial captain, his Vikings shouting and throwing curses at the formation from the outside, brandishing their weapons.

"Let us make a ceasefire, savage. You are at my mercy, and my men are at your warriors'; but a lot from each side would die before any of us wins." Vulus said, his tone cold and serious. "Tell them to drop their weapons."

Stoick let out a small snarl. This invader clearly beaten him in agility, and his dragon weapon was able to kill humans instantly - not just humans, even dragons! He took a small look around and saw Hiccup and Astrid standing atop a small rock, his son with one of the long contraptions and the girl with an axe. While the blonde stood there with no emotions on her face, his eyes were concentrated on Hiccup. The boy was freaked out, his face full of fear and uncertainity. As much as Stoick wanted to try and kill the Imperial officer, he loved his son more.

"Put your weapons down! Now!" the chieftain shouted, and the Vikings threw their arms to the ground, a series of metal clangs following. He turned to the officer.

"It is your turn now."

Vulus put two of his fingers into his mouth and let out a whistle, albeit it was more akin to a complicated ritual music than a simple sound. After he finished, the soldiers straightened themselves, formed ranks and marched towards the lower end of the village square, stopping there in a clean, simple infantry square.

Vulus started walking, but after a few metres he stopped and turned around, his gun pointed at the surprised face of the Viking chief.

"Oh, and by the way," he said as he cocked the gun,

"Surprise!"


	7. Chapter 7: Mutiny

**Okay, basically, this is a "filler" and "not filler" at the same time, and soon you will see why. Please, leave comments because I kind of need them to improve my writing and it is a means of interaction to give me ideas on how to advance. Please.** **Oh, and anybody who gets which movie this scene nods to will be awarded with an imaginary medal of Exceptional Memery.**

{_}

The main hall of the ship was lit by the candles despite being noon. The small rocking of the hull made the flames flicker from time to time, moving the shadows up and down. Only the giant wooden table was shining in the rays of the sun, its waxed surface glittering as a newly forged sword's edge. He sat on his favourite chair, drinking the fine wine and picking the scraps of his lunch, bathing in the light.

The doors split open when the four figures entered the room. They wore sailor clothes, except for the man in front, brandishing a three-pointed hat and officers' regalia. He turned to them, his eyes betraying surprise at seeing unawaited guests.

"Lord Admiral, I take everything on the ship is in ideal condition. I have to say, you came here unexpected." he said, rocking a bit on his chair.

The four men slid out their swords, all straight except for the admiral's saber.

"In the name of the Imperial Admiralty and the Officers' Council, you're under arrest." the man said, his weapon swinging in small.

His eyes widened, but he kept calm. He tapped his saber's end hidden under his table and held up his chin more.

"Are you threatening me, Lord Admiral?" he asked, his eyes locked on the brownish man and his companions.

"The Council will decide your fate."

"I am the Council!" he bellowed, his grip tightening on his saber's hilt.

"No, you are not." the admiral said, shifting his weight onto his right leg.

"It's mutiny, then."

He flung forward, jumping over the table and landing in front of two of the companions and slashing their bellies in one move. The two fell, their hands on their stomaches, blood pouring onto the wooden planks. The admiral jumped backwards, letting the saber land at the last companion, his throat slit as he tried to parry the incoming blade.

The two fought for several minutes, none gaining advance over their opponent until a huge wave struck the hull, finally proving the admiral's skill a chance. His enemy fell onto the floor, his blade dropped onto the lower decks. He retreated until his back hit the giant windows, beyond them the infinite and cold sea of North. The admiral pointed his saber at him.

"You are under arrest, captain."

The doors burst open again, a form rushing into the hall, his saber drawn.

"Brex! I told you it would come to this!" Vulus said, one of his eyes on his young lieutenant. "I was right! The sailors are taking over!"

"The oppression of a cruel officer is not welcome here!" the admiral interrupted. "You have lost."

"No, no, no, no, no, no! You have lost!"

The captain lashed out an iron whip, catching the blade of the saber. The two wrestled, the admiral trying to get his sword free while Vulus tried snatching it from his hands.

"Brex, you have the mean to save me, you must choose!" Vulus shouted, his hands bloody from the tight grasp at the spiky whip, worsened by the pulling of the blade.

"Don't listen to him, officer!" the admiral said, hissing while continuing the wrestle. The captain seemed to slowly lose his stamina, red staining his uniform, pouring onto the boards.

"I… can't hold it… any longer…"

With a final pull, the admiral freed his saber and the whip broke the window, the cold breeze blowing into the hall and the three faces.

"I am going to end this, once and for all!" the admiral bellowed, his sabre raised to slash.

"You can't."

The two opponents turned to the lieutenant whose sword was still drawn.

"He must stand trial." Brex said, with a determined face.

"He has control of the Council and the Guild! He's too dangerous to be left alive!"

"It is not the Emperor's way!" he said, facing the navy officer. "He must live!"

The admiral seemed to ignore his words and raised his sabre to strike the captain. Brex quickly slashed at his chest, a deep wound carved into him, his hands letting go of his sabre which fell into the waves. The captain took the opportunity and lashed out a pistol, unloading it at the man. The bullet struck him and he stumbled backwards, disappearing beneath the icy sea.

"I thought you wanted me to be court martialled." Vulus said, lying on his back on the boards, his blood slowly dripping.

"I had sworn my allegiance to you, not him." Brex said, sitting down onto the chair. "I would follow you until the end of the world and back."

"Good. Then let's go there."


	8. Ch 8: Ships and giggles

**So, another chapter, to speed up the story a bit and show some secrets the Imperials are holding. A bit of Vulus's memories and a bit of history on the Imperium. The Vikings divide into two sides, each supporting different views.** **Enjoy!**

{_}

The belly of the ship smelled of foul substances and rot all the time. Ever since he first stepped onto the greenish floorboards, the same unnatural scent invaded his nose and made his mind foggy. Now, he only snickers at the smell as he confidently walks towards the huge hall-like room at the end of the wide corridor. Next to the walls corpses were laid down, some dying sprinkled among them, wailing and sobbing as they slowly died of infection or starvation. Vulus never liked seeing these people, but he couldn't just refuse the invitations of the Inquisitor. If he did, he would be rotting on the floor instead. Yes, he sent Brex in his place because the young officer seemingly had the stomach to at least not throw up constantly, but whenever the 'Horror of Serpentis' called for him personally, he had to take a visit to the infamous ship. The Serpentis was an old battle barge, serving alongside the Emperor's Might and the Imperia Æterna in the Western Wars of Reconquest, finding its doom in the last battle when a lucky enemy arrow hit the gunpowder kegs on the open deck. A giant chunk of the ship blew off and the crew refused to serve on it again. It was ready to be scrapped when the Imperial Inquisition stepped in and started working on it, turning the wreck into some kind of half-ghost ship, with cages and statues of impaled daemons acting as both utilities and decoration.

"Ah, Captain, I am delighted to see you again!"

Vulus stopped at the door and offered a deep bow.

"I am most honoured, Inquisitor, that you wish to see me." he said, hiding the anxiety in his voice. "What did you intend to show me, Lord Xarius?"

The old man pulled a chain hanging in the air and a large black form landed behind him in a large crash. Vulus recognized metallic sounds and even a small groan. The Inquisitor grabbed the black cloth and pulled it down, revealing a cage with a broken figure inside. He stepped closer, inspecting the form, his eyes following the lines of the body, stopping on the rags before settling on the bright pink hair.

"This, captain, is why I called you here." the old voice croaked, a thin finger pointing at the helpless prisoner. "The witch finally spoke."

Vulus didn't know what to answer. They caught them in the middle of a ritual dedicated to the Outcast, so their weapons landed heavy on their crowd, only leaving a handful of cultists alive, all of which are now held in small cages in this rotting hell on Earth.

"And what did she say?"

"Mostly curses and rude remarks about the ship and its condition." the inquisitor said in a neutral voice, cleaning a rusty dagger from blood. "But she knows where the Library may be."

The captain's face turned white. The Lost Bastion of the Imperium, the hidden Throneland of the Occultii - now all within an arm's reach! Adrenaline rushed through his body and he grabbed the hand of the old man.

"Get out more from her. Locations. Names. Anything. Get it out." he hissed, one of his eyes set on the body curled up on the botton of the cage.

"I can do, yes, that I can, young captain. Heresy can never be forgiven." the man answered, his head bobbing. "Shall I start with a few… trivial methods?"

"Do what you see fit. Just do not kill her - avoid the fate of the others." he said and started walking away, passing the rotting corpses and the wailing victims, ignoring the maniacal laughter of the inquisitor. He felt guilty for throwing the woman into the grasps of the worst people roaming this world - but a witch is a witch, and he had been yearning to learn the whereabouts of the Library. The Library which could bring him fame, money and power. It could bring him the future.

{_}

The Great Hall was full, some murmurs filling the air. The Council was gathered around a table and discussed the current matter and dangers of the invaders. Hiccup tried to listen, but his eyes constantly trailed over to the shadowy form of Astrid, who was sharpening her axe in a dark corner. He lifted the musket from the floor and set it in his lap, continuing what he was intended to do - work out the mechanics of the igniter, which seemed to be the most important part of the contraption. While he examined it, his thoughts ventured back at the scene of the battle, the weird men running and shouting, their leader slaying dragons like they were cattle. Then, the very same brave warrior was confronted by one of his soldier… and he killed him with his fire-breathing stick. It was alien to see a man die and nobody rush to help him. The villagers of Berk were nothing like this. These invaders of unknown lands were cruel, malevolent and lived their life in constant war.

"I SAID NO! WE ARE NOT MOUNTING ANY ATTACKS!"

"We must! Stoick, realise it already, ye can't solve this without a fight! Tae regain our island, we must beat these invaders and burn their ships!" Gobber bellowed, pointing his hook at the Chief. "The peaceful days are over, old pal!"

"They would overrun us in mere moments! They have superior weaponry!" Spitelout shouted, his fists banging the tables.

"Those weapons can't kill all of us!"

"Every invader has one! They can just release their hellish contraptions on their ships and we have no chance!"

The Council errupted into a mass of various insults, slurs and threats. Vikings started gathering around them, taking sides in the conflict. Hiccup looked up and saw a blonde head stand next to Gobber and Gothi, the two Elders supporting an offensive move. The boy stood up, the gun in his grasp, unsure what to do. He wanted revenge, but his father and uncle was right - they were stronger, more defended and well equipped. He just stood in silence when the supporters of attacking moves started moving towards the giant doors of the hall, grabbing their weapons. Hiccup realised what he had to do. He quickly loaded the musket and aimed at a giant iron statue of a dragon hanging just over the entrance.

"I am the Chief, and my order is that-" Stoick bellowed, but a booming sound cut his sentence in half. The iron dragon fell down and landed with a giant crash, barricading the way out.

"NOBODY IS GOING ANYWHERE!"

{_}

"Do you think that it was a good choice?"

"I think so, sir. She deserves it."

Vulus was standing next to a barrel of freshly-opened rum with Brex on his other side, leaning onto the rigging. He hadn't drank much in a long time, and after the visit to the Serpentis, he was convinced at the first mention of alcohol. Brex was surprised at his captain's sudden agreement, expecting the same long monologue about the duties of an officer again. To his surprise, Vulus was the one to open the barrel and, without making the customary toast to the Emperor, he took a giant swig from his filled tankard.

"What if not? Do we have to burn people in the Emperor's name? Would he like that?"

"Captain, our Emperor currently sits on the Eternal Throne in eternal slumber. Our faith empowers him. That is why our Imperium is the beacon of hope." Brex said, refilling his tankard. "We live for the Emperor, and he sleeps for us."

"This doesn't feel right, still. We have so much blood sticking to our hands…" Vulus said, shaking his head. He still had vivid memories of the horrifying landing and the Burning of Cadena.

"We are soldiers. That is our job." the lieutenant said. "I fought in the battle for Smergania, even took part in the assault of Ageddon. If not us, our families would be slaughtered next time."

Vulus did not say anything. He remembered Ageddon, once a prosperous land under the rule of a benevolent king, until his son killed him and declared the Emperor a false god. That was when the full might of the Imperial Army, Navy and the Prætoris brigades rained down on the heavy fortress they called "Hell's Gates". The siege lasted for two years and he fought from start to end. Skirmishes, assaults day-to-day with no end, hundreds dying in mere minutes as the defensive positions of the Ageddii used everything they had on hand, even corpses and living animals. Many musketeers and dragoons remember that event as "The Two Years Trip to the Outcast", mostly by the hardships and horrendous conditions. Two million men, the full fighting force of the Imperium, all amassed near a bastion everybody thought was invulnerable. After the first year, the civillian newspapers learned of the casualties and started rolling out articles about catastrophies and headlines saying "The End Times are coming!" Only after the construction and deployment of the Gargantua brought an end to the nightmare, its monstrous cannon bellowing day and night for five days unstopped.

"What division did you serve with before Ageddon, sir?" Brex asked.

Vulus snapped out of his thoughts and turned to the young officer. He took a big swig and refilled his tankard.

"Emperor's Sons dragoons, first battalion." A smile spread over his face at the thought of his comrades, cheering and laughing back at the camps on the fields of The Capital Metropolis, drinking mead and talking about horses, women and swapping stories… It all seemed unreal now.

"That is a prestigious one. I heard they fought valiantly at Ageddon too, sir."

Vulus felt his heart sink as the memories of dying screams, rotten corpses and tearful eyes flooded his mind. All of his comrades died there and only he managed to survive. The grotesque hand of Fate helped him survive, but not the others. Those people, who could endure the endless swarms of nomads and hold back the Steam Giants of the Mekginseers, were lying dead in front of the open gates of the bloody fortress, marking how close the end was, yet he felt like the whole siege had no point.

"They were."


End file.
